Cold
by Blip-chan
Summary: It had been over a year since Castiel had walked into the lake, over a year since Bobby had given them a vital clue with his dying breath, but here he was standing on the edge of a frozen lake in the middle of nowhere Minnesota just beginning to grieve.


Cold

Warning: Spoilers for season 7, canon character death, thoughts of suicide. ALSO GAY INCEST! If any of these things bother you, I will not be offended if you leave this page. I will, however, laugh and point if you read and then complain.

Disclaimer: Is this show filled with hot gay sex? No? Then I don't own it. So don't sue.

There was a hiss of cold wind off the watering, stinging Dean's eyes and making his nose run_. Of course it was the cold,_ he told himself. _Just the cold._ It had been over a year since Castiel had walked into the reservoir, over a year since Bobby had given them the vital clue with his dying breath, but here he was, standing on the edge of a frozen lake in the middle of nowhere Minnesota just beginning to grieve.

Dean shoved his hands deeper into his black down parka, drawing himself further away from the wind. His feet were buried under an inch of snow, despite the wide platform of his snow shoes, and he couldn't feel his toes. Dean wished the rest of him was as pleasantly numb.

_How many more people am I going to let down?_ He wondered_. Dad, Cas, Bobby, Sam?_ Dean almost choked on the thought. "Oh please God no. Please don't let me lose Sammy." His voive, just a weak hoarse whisper, was swept away by the wind so quickly that Dean didn't quite realize that he had said anything. The image of Sam, cold and still, rose in front of his eyes, a Dean felt a surge of helplessness and failure, a faint echo of what he had felt that day when he thought that he would never see Sam's smile again. Sam was his brother, his little Sammy, and it had been his job to look after him from the day their mother had died. And time and time again he had failed. Sam had died in his arms, gone to hell, lost his soul and was now struggling to keep his sanity and Dean could do nothing. He could do nothing for the man who had become his life.

He remembered the first time Sam had kissed him, had really kissed him. They had both been bloody and exhausted from a hunt that had almost gone very wrong. The ghost had almost dropped a building on Dean, and Sam was still pretty shaken up. They had staggered into the tiny motel room, almost too worn-out to even clean up, but Dean knew that Sam had been badly hurt and needed some help. Dean sat him down on the corner of one of the small beds, pulling out the fist aid supplies he kept on hand. He gently cleaned and bandaged the gash, keeping up a comforting non-sensical murmur to help Sam ward off the pain. Sam's face was pale and scrunched up as he struggled to swallow the pain.

"There Sammy. It's all done," Dean said, gently tying off the last bandage. "You go to sleep. I can take care of myself." And suddenly he was being kissed and there was love and fear and passion and joy and it was over before Dean could even realize what had happened. When Dean's vision came back into focus, Sam had turned his back, but it didn't hide the blush that had spread all over the back of his neck. Dean smiled and pulled Sam to him, being mindful of Sam's injured arm.

"Love you too, Sammy."

I had no idea three little words could change so much, Dean though sadly. He stared vacantly out across the snowy ice, idly wondering how it would feel to break the ice and drown. He just wanted to stay there in the vacant quietness of the winter, to forget about demons, ghosts, the apocalypse, to just forget about everything and stay there. To just stay there, close his eyes and…

"Dean!"

Dean jerked up to find Sam walking towards him, a frown sticking out of his parka hood. There was the growl of idling snow machines and Dean could see at least two others in the woods. He hadn't realized how dark it had gotten. He tried to step towards Sam, but his body had other ideas and he staggered. He would have fallen to the ground if Sam hadn't caught him.

"Easy Dean." There was a look of real fear in Sam's eyes that Dean didn't understand.

"What's wrong Sammy?" His voice sounded wrong, even to him, and Sam put a bare hand against his cheek.

"Warm hands." Sam's frown deepened. Putting a firm hand on Dean's shoulder, he steered Dean to the still humming snow mobile, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders before sliding into the seat behind him. The rest of the trip was a painful blur. Pressed against Sam's warm body, Dean began to shiver violently, his cold body beginning to warm. In almost delirious pain, the only thing he remembered was Sam's eyes gazing sadly at him, wondering why this had happened.

"Dean," Sad said sadly, hands resting on the thin hospital bed sheet. "I still don't understand how you thought that it was a good idea to stand stock still for 4 hours in a Minnesota winter wearing nothing but a simple coat. You almost froze to death."

"Maybe that would have been better." Sam felt his heart flicker.

"Sam, you know I couldn't live without you."

"Why does that matter when all I do is get you killed, hurt or otherwise injured? You went to hell for me, Sam. You lost your _soul_! I can't keep you safe, I can't save you, I can't-"

"Has it occurred to you that you save me every day?" Sam pulled him into an awkward hug, trying to blink back his distress. "From the day you took me out of my nursery you have been doing nothing but saving me." Dean made an indistinct noise that Sam soon realized was crying.

"I miss them," Dean choked. "I should have been able to save them. I should have been able to save you." Sam rocked him gently, blindsided by the unexpected melt down.

"It's ok, Dean. We'll get through this. I love you." And somehow, they both knew it would be enough.

A/N: Cliché ending is cliché, but Dean seriously needs to have a mental breakdown. He is repressed emotion city. Please read and review~!


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